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The Culture of Piracy
Those Few Who Fly The Colours Merchant vessels and freighters are often ill-prepared for an assault while in transit, instead expecting trouble in the first and last legs of their voyages. Pirates are often able to terrify their prey into conceding loot and cargo without any conflict at all. After laying in wait for days on end among asteroid fields and the rings of gas giants, pirate vessels will spring forth from their hidden gantries and shipyards, broadcasting their intent to loot and maim on a tight-beam communication channel to their selected target. Other corsairs might broadcast false credentials as law enforcers or fellow traders until they are close enough to reveal their true identities. What follows is a warning shot, an obvious display of power to frighten the quarry even further, and a subsequent rehashing of demands for cargo over comms. Those vessels who comply are boarded by mangy buccaneers and have their ship stripped bare, from cargo and personal goods to electronic equipment, spare furniture, and even their fuel stores, leaving them with barely enough to make it to the nearest planet with good speed. Valuables will be fenced off to the highest bidder, while the rest will be melted down into scrap, used for repairs, ammunition production, or sold back to unscrupulous local engineers at a profit. There is, however, another strain of piracy that strikes fear into honest mariners. Well-equipped voidcraft prowling in the space between stars track their prey relentlessly, weapons primed and communication arrays silent. Their marks are attacked with no hails, no demands, and no mercy, as lasers and cannonades send chunks of armor plating and the superstructure beneath spiraling apart. The crew of such an unfortunate vessel, shell-shocked and panicked, is then overwhelmed by armed reavers, slicing through external airlocks with plasma torches, wielding void rifles and monoblades. Those few who aren’t slain in the initial violence are manacled and drugged, destined to be ransomed off or otherwise disposed of for a pittance. Harriers across the sector refer to this type of piracy as ‘raising the red,’ violent melees that leave corpses and detritus in spades. Those select few who make their livings off of such work are often military deserters or similarly trained warriors, gaining an advantage over their opponents through martial violence and skill as opposed to reputation and fear. A Culture of Blades In an era of energy projectors and advanced ballistics, the presence of melee weaponry and martial implements among corsair crews is unusually high. These weapons follow no pattern of standardization, ranging from short knives and serrated edges to fully-fledged swords and exotic designs. When ammunition is scarce and postech firearms require costly maintenance, a sharp blade continues to provide for the resourceful wielder. In the tight corners and confines of a spaceship, ranged weapons become unwieldy liabilities, while slashing swords and knives are only made more potent. A reliable melee weapon also presents a more vivid form of dealing death, as something about a crazed corsair shouting themselves hoarse with a glistening monoblade in their hand instills terror in the hearts of the most stoic mariners. Beyond their intended functions, such weapons often become charms of good fortune, stashed away in secret coat sheaths and the shins of worn boots, no matter the occasion. To The Victor Goes The Spoils Piracy is almost always a forceful acquisition of materials and physical items, as credits aren’t transported about in a solid-state form convenient for theft. The enterprising pirate must therefore possess the talents of a merchant, singling out valuable cargos with a keen eye and knowing where the best price can be obtained for stolen goods. Mining vessels might be divested from their freshly-extracted ores, which are then sold to wildcat smelting operations, destined to be forged into armor plating and other such tools of war. Coffee haulers and other such foodstuff based enterprises are often placed at knifepoint while in transit to and from core world destinations, their verdant shipments consumed by hungering reavers and packaged off to rimworld settlements willing to pay top-dollar for consignments of cash crops. The most tantalizing targets are military supply vessels - normal milspec targets can dash even a well-prepared pirate to pieces, while boarding a troop transport is the height of folly. The firepower and technology housed in supply craft are lusted after by all those who deal in death and crime, and corsairs who can deliver on such needs can lounge on a dragon’s hoard of credits for the rest of their lives. These are but a few choice examples of the liberated freight that pass through pirate vessel holds - those looking to obtain items by illicit means can reasonably expect to whatever they desire when dealing in pirate-laden ports, though they should bring a glut of credits and watch their pockets in equal measure. Islands of Light In The Darkness A lone pirate is a delinquent, a malcontent, and a thief. Such assertions always hold true, yet those who are willing to work alongside and open their doors to the criminal underworld keep the traditions of the corsair alive and well. Almost every planet in Acheron Rho is likely to house a coterie of criminal sympathizers, retired raiders and personnel still willing to do a good turn for their brethren. Nondescript residential units serve as safe houses for those being pursued by officers of the law, with crates of ammunition buried amongst the foundations and aged firearms hidden in the rafters. Akin to ancient tales of buried treasure, grey boxes are uninhabited structures littered across the sector where a pirate can quickly store ‘hot cargo,’ invaluable goods that attract a good deal of unwanted attention and aggressive pursuers. Due to the nature of their work, many pirates never return to reclaim such treasures, taking their knowledge to the grave. These shining fortunes are scattered about in abandoned structures, hastily-drilled and sealed vaults in the cores of unmarked asteroids, mislabeled crates purposefully held in bureaucratic stasis among the racks of silent warehouses, and even in the basements of unknowing serfs and shopkeepers, rigged with deadman traps waiting to slay the first unfortunate discoverer of their location. Tigers In The Long Grass Hinted at by crude depictions of the Vagrant main in the riotous colors of graffiti, the cultures and concerns of piracy have deep roots in the underbelly of the interstellar diaspora, drained of idealism and left with avarice and desperation. Bouncers standing guard outside bars and less reputable clubs offer subtle nods and free passage to freebooters freshly returned from pillaging space lanes, while dockside merchants begrudgingly allow visiting buccaneers to siphon off necessary supplies in exchange for assurances of protection. Criminal mariners who become closely tied to the peoples of specific spaceports and landing sites might even establish contentious black-flag communities, such as the Little Shān district of Imperial Prime. These communities are made up of spacers and other such types with a vested interest in the stars, their cultures slowly melding with those of visiting pirates and their streets becoming host to retired marauders looking to rest on their laurels. These boroughs, with their pidgin languages, exotic markets, and distressing amounts of imported and hidden armaments, present a target to local law enforcement wherever they spring forth. This leaves such communities in constant flux between law enforcement raids, the tidings of interstellar trade, and visits made incognito from their piratical forebears, as scions inspired by tales of adventure and wealth leave for the stars as fast as new arrivals can enter into such maritime communities. Yet not all who support space borne freebooters do so passively. Hidden shipyards, created by disgruntled engineer brigades in the dark recesses of the sector, serve as repair bays for damaged vessels and training grounds for their crews. Orbital traffic officers and dockyard mechanics are made into informants, passing off information about poorly-defended hauling craft or cargo of interest to piratical contacts in system. A few infamous ports, the largest of which is the infamous New Montgomery of Shān, allow corsairs to openly walk the streets and offload their loot without fear of reprisal. Some robber barons even construct permanent installations and defensive entrenchments on lonely asteroids and bleak rimworlds, their drinking halls, lodges, and lonely forts established as ports of call for others of their ilk. The violence perpetrated by the harriers of the stars is but one component of a greater whole. Trained personnel who have struck their past banners, whether due to greed or desperation, provide a support network for those brave enough to actually raid amongst the stars. These ventures are then rewarded by a sector-wide web of middlemen and fences, made of average citizens and laborers turned to crime in order to make a living, however meager it may be. Secrets Among The Stars In a society subjected to scrutiny and surveillance, the common criminal must be able to communicate their intentions and the details of their various misdeeds with relative security. Sky-cant is but one of many names for the cryptolect of the vagabond and the lawbreaker, a collation of slang, colloquialisms, and innocent words armed with double meanings to obfuscate eavesdroppers. It is, by no means, a complicated dialect, yet the issue of translation rests in the variety of sky-cant, the differences and new terminology weaved into this argot between every port and every planet. Much like a persistent growth of weeds, one cannot truly dispose of sky-cant, as no matter how many hustlers and marauders are slain or imprisoned, some ne'er-do-well will always have need for subtlety. Category:Vagrant